


一起躲雨，一起看星星；city starlight

by fefedove



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, UNIQ (Band), 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, choir kid xiao zhan, dance major yibo, really subtle fluff and feels, subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24852046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fefedove/pseuds/fefedove
Summary: Xiao Zhan has a penchant for staring at stars; Wang Yibo would rather stare at him.Or: Wang Yibo has an embarrassing crush on this choir kid and he doesn't know how to handle it.
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo & Xiao Zhan, Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan
Comments: 23
Kudos: 248





	一起躲雨，一起看星星；city starlight

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is 90% my life in the minzu university of china (which is, btw, hangeng's alma mater (yes, i'm bragging about him being my senior even tho we have nothing to do with each other))
> 
> *xiao zhan is 2 years older than yibo
> 
> also, this is definitely a self-indulgent fic lmao. there are a lot of chinese elements and ummm...a lot of self-insert lol
> 
> for character reference: [here](https://twitter.com/fefedove/status/1274898503924191238)

The performing arts groups of the uni can’t exactly coexist. The world would be much more peaceful if they’re not crammed into one room to rehearse for the graduation gala. It’s honestly worse than the beginning of the year when they tried to get all the freshmen over to their booth by trying to out-perform and shout over the other groups.

The choir takes up one corner, all hipsters with guitars and belting out English songs.

The drama and speech kids yell and play-fight across the room from each other. (Goddamn they’re annoying.)

The orchestra has their instrument cases around them as if they want to barricade the stupidity oozing from the rest.

The dancers loll about, scattered on the ground in every position possible.

Yixuan is in straddle position and Yibo is sitting on him, trying to flatten that arched back. But ignoring Yixuan’s pained whimpers of “Yibo, get off, get off, p-please…”, he’s instead staring with disgust at Yu-laoshi teaching a simple choreography to the choir.

It’s literally just holding a fake sunflower and swaying left to right. Yet they still manage to mess up.

Then Seungyoun distracts him with an “Oh my god, the orchestra girls’ costumes look like dragon fruit” and Yixuan successfully throws Yibo off.

The director glares in their direction when Yixuan tries to move out of straddle and moans, harmonizing with Wenhan as Yibo falls onto him. Sungjoo does an apologetic nod thing for them, but they don’t really care. The dancers always get away with things more easily because they’re the only ones who are talented. (No bias here.)

Seungyoun lies down on Wenhan. “Yu-laoshi will throw a fit if you wrinkle the flag,” he says, tugging at the red fabric now sandwiched between them.

“Fuck, you’re heavy,” Wenhan groans. “You broke your diet. You ate _chuan’r_ without me? I’m gonna tell—”

Tuning them out, Yibo uses Sungjoo as a pillow and props his head up so he can go back to judging the choir kids.

His eyes fall upon the tall one in the middle. By _tall_ , he means _gangly, awkward, and sticking out like a sore thumb._

By _sticking out like a sore thumb_ , he also means _the only one who doesn’t look like a pretentious douche._

“Who you staring at?” Seungyoun asks.

“Xiao Zhan.”

Probably hearing his name (because they aren’t being exactly subtle), the boy in question flushes. His eyes dart towards them and he misses a step, earning a whack to the head from the uncoordinated girl next to him.

“You missed a beat!” Yu-laoshi barks. “Start over.”

Seungyoun snorts. “Reminder. There’s like two weeks left before he graduates.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Yibo shoots back.

“Time is running out. And you know what they say,” Wenhan intones with his eyes closed. “True men fuck other men.”

“That’s a thing?” Seungyoun asks, seemingly interested.

Yibo switches pillows, ditching Sungjoo to make the other two boys squawk under him instead.

The run-through doesn’t wrap up until way past midnight. After the director gives a long, _encouraging_ speech, they’re finally free to go.

Most of the dancers take their time tugging off their shoes and knee pads while complaining about having to do homework due tomorrow (“you mean, in four hours”) or discussing if they should just go eat before hot water comes back for a shower in the morning.

It’s that strange hour between midnight and dawn where you get philosophical and think, _maybe time really is just human creation._

Yibo’s group races out of the building.

The small shack of a mart across from the street has the metal grate pulled down. Seungyoun and Wenhan run over to the dimmed vending machine next to it.

“Yah, they haven’t restocked those snacks in years!” Sungjoo cries out. “You’ll get food poisoning and die!”

“Just getting water!” Wenhan yells back, even as a bag of _latiao_ falls down the shelf.

“Yu-laoshi will kill them first,” Yixuan mutters. “Yibo, you going to shower?”

Yibo spies Xiao Zhan further down the road. He’s in the midst of a group of choir kids, but there’s just something about him that sets him apart. He’s the center of attention, but it’s like he’s somehow still in his own world. (Of course, could be the effect of his monstrous height.)

“Bye!” Yibo calls over his shoulder as he walks calmly (not) away. “Wenhan, help me take attendance for the morning class!”

Wenhan yells back something like _jian se wang you_ but he’s not even listening.

Yibo makes it over just as the choir girls take a turn to go to their dorm building.

“Hey.” He jogs over and gets in line with the boy. “Zhan-ge, wanna get food?”

Xiao Zhan looks longingly in the direction of his dorm where his comfortable bed is and then back at Yibo. He shakes his head helplessly. “As if you’d take no for an answer.”

They turn towards the square, now completely dark and unlit, going for the East Gate. “You didn’t eat dinner, right?” Yibo asks.

He gets a hum in answer.

“You don’t have to take Yu-laoshi’s orders seriously, y’know.”

Xiao Zhan laughs. “I don’t know how you guys do it. How do you survive diets?”

“We don’t. I was the thinnest during _yikao_. Can never get back.”

“But I thought you have to run on the track until you lose whatever weight you gained?”

With a grimace, Yibo mutters, “We don’t talk about that.”

They make it through the path lined with foliage (Yibo: “Ge, hurry up, the mosquitoes keep coming at me”) and discreetly walk out of the East Gate. They’re not doing anything illegal—really—but the weird guilt makes them paranoid when getting past the security guard.

At the food cart, Yibo orders a serving of noodles and scrutinizes Xiao Zhan as he chooses what to put in his _oden._ Right before Xiao Zhan pays, Yibo throws two more fish balls into the paper cup and flashes an innocent smile.

They settle on the sidewalk, Yibo squatting so no pesky insects crawl up his legs. Meanwhile, Xiao Zhan sits right on the curb, pulling his knees up and holding the _oden_ with both hands. He nibbles on one of the sticks and stares forward blankly.

The East Gate faces the main road. At this hour, lights hazily dot the street and the occasional car whizzes. Two or three groups cluster around the sole food cart, sitting on small stools and overturned beer crates. Compared to the bustling street of restaurants and food stalls outside the West Gate, it’s serene here.

And here thrives their ambiguous relationship—it’s too awkward to really interact in public, but it all melts away under the midnight sky.

“Ge, what are you gonna do after graduating?” Yibo usually eats politely, making sure his mouth isn’t full when he speaks, but his words come out muffled now.

“Find a job somewhere. What else can I do?”

“Do your masters here. Then we can graduate together.”

“No way!” Xiao Zhan sputters. “I am _not_ writing another thesis. I’d rather die.”

Yibo pouts. “I see how it is.”

“You don’t get it. You don’t have to write anything.”

“Yeah, we do!” Yibo cries indignantly. “Dance majors don’t just dance all day, y’know? We have _wenhua_ classes too. I took physics as an elective last semester and I _passed_.”

Xiao Zhan waves him off.

After a lull, he asks, “I’ve always wondered why you would join dance group. Don’t you get tired of dancing?”

“It’s extra credit. And the experience is good. We don’t usually do anything other than ethnic or classical in classes,” Yibo answers seriously. “Xuan-ge thinks it’s inspiring to see how hard the non-professionals practice.”

Pause. Slurp.

“Oh, but Wenhan and Seungyoun joined to get girls.”

Xiao Zhan looks at him and Yibo plods on. “Yeah, ‘cause the dance girls all want to date art majors, but the rest of the girls in uni all like dance guys.”

Midway through, he steals the last fish ball that Xiao Zhan has.

“Then where’s your girl?”

Yibo almost drops the stolen goods but saves it at the last second. “I told you, I’m here for the dance experience.” He looks up at Xiao Zhan. “School and career first, y’know.”

“Mhm, sure.” Xiao Zhan lifts the paper cup to his mouth and slurps the remaining broth.

He stretches with a loud yawn and leans back, staring up at nothing in the sky.

Yibo looks too, for a second, but his eyes fall back at Xiao Zhan.

“Ge, anything you wanna do before you graduate? Like, run naked through campus or something?”

Xiao Zhan swats the boy. But he rests his elbows on his knees and ponders the question. “I do want to get onto the Science Building’s rooftop.”

“Then, let’s go!” Yibo shoots up immediately, crumpling up his paper bowl.

Xiao Zhan lets himself get pulled to his feet. “Not now,” he yelps. “It’s way too late.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

Xiao Zhan looks at Yibo the way a wise elder looks at a reckless young child—a mix of love for the youth and wanting to throttle them from annoyance.

“Let’s go after the last night of the graduation gala.”

Yibo studies him. “I think you’re patronizing me but—” He shrugs. “This is your bucket list, old man.”

Xiao Zhan tries to kick him, but the dancer sashays gracefully to the side.

The gala lasts four nights—three nights for the graduating class of different departments and one night for everyone else. It’s an event unique to the university. You’d think it’s some idol group’s concert with the way students even use connections to try and get tickets or hide in the auditorium’s bathroom.

Afternoon of the first day, everyone is in a nervous mess.

Yibo is sent with some other guys out the West Gate to help the girls buy extra hairbands, bobby pins, and last-minute necessities. On the way back, they snag bubble tea and Yibo gets himself a _jianbing_. (The mountain of green onions spills out of the paper bag.)

They get to the auditorium with the teetering pile. After the girls attack and ransack all the _stuff_ , Yibo is left empty-handed. He leaves the sole changing room backstage (conquered by the dance group) and wanders to the makeup stations.

There’s a line of guys waiting to get their makeup done by girls of the various groups. The ones seated squirm as if the eyeliner is burning them, but the finished ones run around to find the best lighting for a selfie.

Yibo rolls his eyes at the amateurs. Then he spies the one he’s been looking for and darts over.

“Zhan-ge!” he calls. The makeup artist—a girl from dance—shoots him a knowing look. Ignoring that and the choir kids’ stares, he perches on the table.

Xiao Zhan, eyes closed, swats aimlessly in the direction of his voice.

“Xiao-laoshi, you look great without makeup,” Yibo proclaims using the formal version of _you_ and with utmost awe. “Contouring? No, you don’t need it at all. Your features are already so defined. Your jawline, your cheekbones, your—”

Xiao Zhan cracks an eye open. “I’ll be faceless under those auditorium spotlights without makeup. Are you trying to ruin me?”

“Of course not!” Yibo leans closer. “Ge, did you know? Every single one of your eyelashes are so—”

“Wang Yibo!” the makeup artist barks.

“Huang Shibei!” he shoots back.

The girl sighs in exasperation. “Go help the stage crew mark the stage with tape. Go lead the warmup. Go check the props. Go put on your costume and makeup. Go do something _useful._ ”

Xiao Zhan tries to hide his giggle, but some laughter spills out.

“Oh, I know, Beibei.” Yibo arches an eyebrow at Shibei. “You just wanna be alone with _the_ Xiao Zhan.”

“Yes, yes, fuck off. Please.”

Looking down to see that Xiao Zhan’s ears are the same shade as the blush on Shibei’s brush, Yibo leaves to do what he’s supposed to do.

Though the dance group technically took over the changing room, the girls kicked the guys out. Yibo eventually finds his friends behind a stack of chairs.

Sungjoo stops in the struggle with his Mongolian boots. “Yibo, are you okay today?” he asks in concern.

“Huh?” Pleased to find that someone (probably Yixuan) had put his costume in a neat pile, Yibo plops down and starts changing.

“You know…with…uh...”

Seungyoun tsks. “He means, how come you finally got the balls to flirt with Xiao Zhan in public today?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Time is ticking,” Wenhan sings.

Yibo picks up what’s closest to him—his headpiece—and chucks it at Wenhan. It clatters to the ground and one of the plastic gems cracks in half.

“Okay. Fuck.”

Yibo stands backstage, hiding in the folds of the curtains. Onstage, select members of the choir and drama club perform a skit, going through the various stages of a university student’s four years.

When they start singing about dating and breakups and such, Wenhan lets out a dramatic (but quiet) wail. “When will I get a girlfriend?”

“Ha.”

Wenhan kicks him. “As if you’re any better.”

“I am.”

“You’ve gotten nowhere with your Zhanzhan.”

“Yeah, I have!” Yibo insists.

The stage crew teacher gestures angrily at them. Wenhan ducks his head down and whisper-scoffs, “Staring longingly at his lips doesn’t count.”

Conversation breaks off momentarily as Xiao Zhan’s solo starts. Eyes trained on the boy, Yibo murmurs, “Y’know, he has really nice earlobes.”

“What the fuck.”

“They’re squishy,” Yibo supplies.

“What the fuck.” Wenhan touches his own ears subconsciously and his brows furrow. “How would you know.”

“Remember that time I went to Tianjin with him? I couldn’t fall asleep, so he let me touch his ears and—”

Wenhan covers Yibo’s mouth with the long sleeve of his dance costume and pulls it taut. “Continue and I’ll strangle you.”

The performance nights pass in a blur. It’s all the same routines but with different mistakes and problems every night. 

It’s okay though. By the last night, everyone chills in the changing room—some studying for exams, some playing raucous rounds of _dou dizhu._ Not even the director saying that important officials are in the audience and teachers yelling _you think you’re hot shots just because you performed for three nights??_ can get them moving until the last minute.

Finally, the gala is over. All the graduating seniors cry, everyone takes pictures onstage, the changing room empties quickly, and the performers spill into the streets outside campus. 

The dancers head straight to the closest hot pot restaurant. Along the way, Yibo notices the choir going in the direction of the famous _chuan’r_ place.

After settling into the private room, people file out in pairs and groups to get the sauces and snacks.

Seungyoun stands in the middle of the restaurant and takes a deep breath. “Ah,” he sighs dramatically. “Food.”

Slinging an arm across his shoulder, Wenhan says, “Seungyounie, eat as much as you want today.”

“Gege, you’re paying for me?” Seungyoun asks, fluttering his lashes.

They proceed to fight and bicker. Yibo watches half-heartedly as he makes a concoction of sesame sauce, fermented bean curd, and half a bowl of chopped green onions. Strolling down the line, he adds another spoon of red peppers. 

Hot pot goes as always. The cooked dishes disappear as soon as the servers bring them to the table and you can never find the stuff that you put into the pot to cook. Beer, _soju_ , _baijiu,_ iced tea and coconut milk mix together. Everyone gets a little tipsy and sentimental.

“Oh, it’s three a.m.,” someone suddenly says. “Usually, we’d be half-dead in the practice room.”

The seniors start crying about how they’ll never experience those nights again while Yibo checks his phone. Seeing the unread message, he whispers to Yixuan, “Gotta go. Lemme know how much. I’ll pay you back tomorrow!”

He doesn’t wait for a reply.

A familiar figure stands before the Science Building.

“Zhan-ge!” Yibo calls, jogging over.

No reply.

“Xiao Zhan?”

When he gets closer, the boy turns unsteadily and Yibo makes a face. “How much did you drink?” he asks, judging the flush.

Xiao Zhan holds up a finger. “One Yanjing,” he answers.

“Are you sure just one?”

Another finger comes up.

Yibo rolls his eyes. One can of beer for Xiao Zhan is like one bottle of _baijiu_ for him. “Don’t fall off the roof later.”

“I won’t,” Xiao Zhan promises earnestly.

They walk to the side of the building where the stairs are. Yibo eyes the caution tape. “Are you sure this is the right place to go up?”

“There’s…” Xiao Zhan gesticulates. “You can climb out the window in the chemistry lab and go there too.”

“Aight, never mind.” Yibo lifts the tape. “Ge, you first.”

Xiao Zhan has never been known for his grace. Now that he’s drunk, Yibo is honestly worried he’ll trip and fall to his death. So they climb, Yibo following in the back, ready to catch the boy if needed.

Fortunately, nothing so tragic happens.

It’s Yibo’s first time up here. He looks around, taking in the view. 

There’s always something romantic and dramatic about school building rooftops. It’s _the_ place for confessions in dramas. 

Now, he can see why. It’s the tallest building in the vicinity and the entire campus is under his eyes. Drunken singing floats over from the basketball court like a lullaby for the sleeping university.

Leaning against the railing, Xiao Zhan tilts his head back to look at the sky.

Yibo joins him. The railing digs into his back. “Ge, why’d you want to come up here?”

“It’s high up.” Xiao Zhan hums. “I used to want to come and scream. But I don’t wanna do that now.”

“Why not?” 

To be honest, it’s never occurred to him that Xiao Zhan would have such extreme emotions to vent out. Hell, has he even heard Xiao Zhan raise his voice before?

Xiao Zhan leans further back and Yibo jolts. His hand shoots out to grab onto the older boy’s elbow.

“Look,” Xiao Zhan whispers as if telling a secret. “There are stars.”

Yibo looks. Despite the light pollution of being so close to the center of Beijing, a few scattered stars indeed glitter in the night sky. 

“Cool.”

“I like stars,” Xiao Zhan mumbles.

“I know.”

Quiet, off-key singing fills the air above the rooftop. Yibo lets the voice wash over him, lulling him to somewhere sweet and faraway.

_And I’m in love with a lonely star._

“Zhan-ge, you got the words wrong.”

Frowning, Xiao Zhan waves him off. “No, it’s right.”

He sings it again, louder this time, while staring intently at Yibo as if trying to hypnotize him into believing these are the original lyrics. The remnants of stage makeup define his features even in the dimness, but his eyes are wide and clear and _soft_.

Yibo licks his lips. They’re chapped.

“Ge,” he starts. “There’s something I wanna do before I graduate.”

“Bobo, you’re not graduating.”

“But you are.”

Xiao Zhan cocks his head in confusion.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?”

Yibo pushes off from the railing to face the other boy directly. “Xiao Zhan, can I kiss you?”

Xiao Zhan blinks. “...Yeah?”

It’s chaste because they’re still so fucking awkward. Xiao Zhan’s lips are sticky from whatever lip gloss he was given backstage to put on. Both of them smell like hairspray, sweat, cumin lamb skewers and hot pot, but—

Yibo thinks this must be what summer and stars taste like.

“Now, let us welcome Xiao Zhan, bachelors student representative, for a speech.”

Amidst thunderous applause, Xiao Zhan, clad in a graduation gown and cap, makes his way to the podium.

“That’s my Zhan-ge!” Yibo exclaims, tugging on Sungjoo’s arm. 

“Yes, we know. Everyone in the school knows.”

Unperturbed, Yibo continues cheering. “Xiao Zhan!!” 

On stage, Xiao Zhan smiles—not the one that Yibo gets to see in their midnight moments but the beautiful one that makes every heart flutter.

He starts speaking about his years at the university, humbly mentioning his many academic achievements, thanking his professors, classmates, the choir…

Yibo tries to listen, but the words don’t really register. He scrolls through Weibo to see that the uni’s confession blog posted: _Xiao Zhan is graduating today. What a pity! Our school will have one less_ shuaige _now._

The comments make him frown. He has a feeling that when the ceremony is over, there’ll be a flock of fans outside the building.

And he’s not wrong.

When they go outside, there’s a slight drizzle, but juniors still come over and ask Xiao Zhan for pictures. Yibo stands under the eave of the traditional auditorium building and shoots daggers from the shadows. And he waits. Patiently.

At a crack of thunder, he's had enough.

“Xiao Zhan!” he finally calls out. “Get over here!”

Xiao Zhan nods politely and waves at the junior beside him. He jogs up the steps to meet Yibo. “Yes?”

“It’s raining,” Yibo states the obvious.

Xiao Zhan tsks knowingly. “Not even the rain can wash away the smell of vinegar,” he teases.

“I just don’t want you to get a cold,” Yibo protests, latching onto Xiao Zhan’s hand. "I'm not jealous!"

“Sorry, Bo-ge. Forgive me.”

“You…you can take pictures after it stops raining.”

“Okay, okay.” Xiao Zhan reaches his free hand out to catch raindrops. “Gosh, why can’t I have a sunny graduation?”

“Because you already shine bright enough," Yibo blurts.

Xiao Zhan turns toward him, mouth dropping open in a silent _o._ “D-did… Did those cheesy words really just come out of Wang Yibo’s mouth?”

Yibo flushes immediately. “I’m not gonna say that stuff anymore,” he mutters. Lowering his head, he kicks at a pebble.

“Aww, c’mon,” Xiao Zhan says, pinching Yibo’s cheeks. "You can say all the cheesy stuff you want."

Yibo pries Xiao Zhan’s hands off of his face (but doesn’t let go.) “No.”

Xiao Zhan glances out again, gazing at the people still taking pictures under umbrellas. “That’s gonna be you in two years. And I’ll be the old grandpa following you around with a camera.”

“Not just my graduation though,” Yibo says. “You have to come to my spring and autumn examination performances and my final showcase and the graduation gala and the ceremony.” He punctuates each word with a poke to Xiao Zhan’s chest.

“Mhm,” Xiao Zhan laughs. He catches Yibo’s finger mid-poke. “I’ll make sure to come to every important event you have. And everything else too.”

Satisfied with the promise, Yibo grins—the big, lopsided one that pushes his cheeks up so high.

Without freeing Yibo’s finger, Xiao Zhan slips his hands into the folds of the loose graduation gown. He leans down; the tassel of his cap tickles Yibo’s cheek.

This time, Xiao Zhan’s lips are soft and he smells of jasmine-scented shampoo with a tinge of fresh petrichor.

And Wang Yibo is sure that Xiao Zhan is made of starlight. 

一起躲雨，一起看星星；

以后的日子，我都陪你一起走过。

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> happy 622~
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/fefedove)


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